


What's Not Left Behind

by Roguespirit



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Chivalry, Comfort, Fighting over a girl, Gen, Light Angst, Precursors, Turf War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 02:12:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14990519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roguespirit/pseuds/Roguespirit
Summary: Inkopolis Square, a place that never sleeps, is suddenly very quiet. When Judd discovers a tournament where the prize is the most beautiful Inkling in Inkopolis, he is worried that the Inklings will slip into the traps of their ancient predecessors. The prize herself believes that the Precursors would have taught them a much better path. Judd isn't so sure.





	What's Not Left Behind

Inkopolis square wasn’t supposed to be quiet. Even at the latest hours of the night, it was a tumultuous congregation of excitement, frustration, and general merriment. And yet, as the sun passed just beyond its apogee, the square had become eerily silent, broken only by the ambient sounds of the surrounding urban jungle. The tension in the air seemed to cling like static to everyone who entered and it eventually stirred a furry creature from his slumber.

 

Judd was a simple cat with simple desires; one of those simple desires was a decent nap. Now roused from his sleep by this uneasiness, the feline let out a discontented meowl as he opened his eyes to see what the matter was.

 

The bustle and hustle of the crowded square was absent. Inklings anxiously walked in silence while a few huddled together in small groups. As an indication of their nervousness, their colours shifted between their natural colours and colours similar to their background, as if trying to blend in and hide. All eyes seemed to be directed at The Shoal, a place that organized private battles.

 

From his position at the foot of Deca Tower, Judd couldn’t see directly into the establishment. What he could see seemed to indicate it was packed but that was nothing unusual. Why was everyone so nervous then?

 

Groaning, the cat rolled into a sitting up position and then slid off his pillow onto the ground. He wasn’t going to get any sleep with this atmosphere. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if anything would actually come of his investigation but at least knowing what was going on would give him some peace of mind.

 

Nobody paid him any attention as he made his way across the square. A few of the non-inkling species seemed a bit more relaxed but still unsettled by the atmosphere. They didn’t seem to know what was going on any more than he did.

 

He climbed atop a vacant café table and took his first good look into The Shoal. The place was always busy but even during a splat fest, there was never this many crammed inside, and never had Judd seen so many Inklings so full of barely contained aggression. At least, not since the Great Turf War a century ago. He shook his head at the memory and refocused on the scene playing before him.

 

The Inklings were pushing and shoving their way towards the front desk with no semblance of an orderly queue line. They weren’t yelling but the Jellies behind the desk seemed besieged on all sides by their irate patrons, doing their jobs as best they could while trying to prevent total anarchy.

 

None of the inklings really spoke to each other in anything other than glares and threatening colours on their mantles. The cat wondered if the only thing preventing them from swinging fists was their being packed in so tightly they couldn’t properly swing their arms.

 

Near as Judd could tell, all the Inklings were trying to sort out some kind of private Turf War session, but something of this magnitude, even a private match, would have had to be planned well in advance. There had to be over seventy Inklings crammed into The Shoal and who knew how many had already been processed. And yet, Judd had no idea what event this was for. Such a large match would have required his special skills to judge the disposition of ink over such a large area.

 

_ ‘Purrhaps it’s another kind of match.’ _ He thought. Other types of matches could be more easily judged, which would explain why he hadn’t been told about it, but it still didn’t explain why so many Inklings were involved or this awful tension they seemed to be creating. Judd had been around Inklings for a very long time and knew a lot about their behaviour. He was certain he could figure this out. 

 

Inklings were normally drawn in such large numbers by some spectacular event or the potential to win a large prize. Since no event had been announced, that left the prize. What prize could be offered that would draw in so many Inklings and put them into such a combative disposition?

 

“So many  _ male _ Inklings.” Judd murmured thoughtfully. He just realized that all of the Inklings inside The Shoal were males, and with that kind of disposition, they had to be competing for something personal. To Judd, who had seen the Inkling civilization grow from its Bronze Age days to a thriving modern civilization on the back of the humans who had come before, the answer was all too clear: a female.

 

Males competing for a female was normal for them, but Judd hadn’t seen a tournament battle for a female’s affection in a very long time. In an age where Inklings were carefree almost to the point of dangerousness, an age where Inklings were obsessed with the new or ‘fresh’; that such an ancient form of battling for a female’s affections would be used, and on such a scale. 

 

If it was anything like past tournaments of this sort, then it would not only involve the males competing directly for the female but their friends whom they brought in as their teammates. This wouldn’t be a Turf War either so neither he nor any other judge would have been called to judge the ink dispersal. No, they would be using a form of competition that was almost considered taboo: Splat Match.

 

Unlike Turf Wars, where the objective was to cover more ground in your team’s ink than the opposing team, Splat Matches were all about splatting as many of your opponents as possible. The team with the highest number of splats won. It was probably the most violent contest in Inkling society.

 

He had worked hard to make Turf War the preferred fashion of settling disputes, to curtail any predisposition towards violent acts. He was determined to ensure that the Inkling’s didn’t make the same mistakes humanity had. His master and most of the other humans would weep if the Inklings fell into the same cycle of death and war as they had. Splat Matches were too close to being a blood sport for his liking and most other residents of Inkopolis felt the same way.

 

“This could turn into a purrrty big mess if it gets out of hand. I should go watch these matches at least. Even if I’m not a judge, I can’t let this slide.”

 

Judd climbed down from the table and headed back to his pillow at the foot of Deca Tower and pulled his phone out from under it. His privileges as a judge allowed him to see where and when future matches were taking place. There were only a handful of venues that could handle so many participants so it didn’t take him long to find out where he needed to go.

 

Clam Shell Lots was little more than a set of disused parking lots with some assorted obstacles and platforms that helped add more dimension to the field. The judges were all Inklings themselves and he noted they didn’t seem particularly enthused about the match they had been called to officiate.

 

Nearly half of the audience seating was taken up by the time he arrived and the audience didn’t just consist of Inklings; a few curious crabs and Urchins had also come to observe. Even most of the Inklings didn’t look particularly energetic; a stark contrast to the excited crowds at such events two-thousand years ago. Judd wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign.

 

He decided to sit far away from the rest of the crowd. At times like these, he needed a clear head and few distractions. His mind tended to wander into his distant memories at times like this and he preferred to be alone with those memories.

 

As he climbed up to the higher seats his eyes picked out an Inkling sat alone and far from everyone else. She was dressed much more elegantly than the other audience members and carried a regal air about her. She wore a long white sleeveless dress that gradually blended into a light purple at the bottom of the skirt and matching light purple dress shoes that shone like glass.

 

Unusually, her secondary tentacles on the back of her head were much longer than normal, reaching the middle of her back while her club tentacles, resting on the bench either side of her, would likely reach her ankles if she stood. They were a lovely azure blue, that even sparkled a little in the sunlight. Her tentacular clubs were white at the tips and a few spots higher up, indicating she was at least in her late teens. Her eyes were the same blue, but there was no sparkle in them, only melancholy. 

 

This had to be her; the female they were fighting over. They certainly wouldn’t have gone to all this fuss for a normal female. He decided that this girl needed some company more than he needed solitude. Besides, he might even find out how this all happened. He got very close before she finally noticed him. Surprise displaced her mournful expression and she twisted her torso to face him.

 

“Judd? What are you doing here?” Her voice was surprisingly pleasant to his ears. The Inkling spoken language was usually full of gurgling sounds when they spoke, but this girl’s voice had unusual clarity. 

 

He plopped himself down beside her and stared out onto the battlefield as the first match was about to begin. “I thought I should be here for something like this.” He answered simply. “Although, I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, meow.”

 

The girl’s eyes refilled with the same melancholy as before, like liquid into a clear glass. She peered out onto the battlefield and folded her hands tightly in her lap. “A tournament.” She answered; though, she didn’t so much as speak the statement as spit it out before she added: “And I’m the prize.”

 

“I see.” Judd thought it best to feign ignorance a little right now. Still, perhaps now he could finally get some answers. “How did that happen?”

 

The girl let out a long sigh and rested her chin in her hands. “It just got too much. They were all fighting over me and worse, fighting each other over me. My parents suggested that if they were going to fight, they should do it in a proper match. They only wanted to diffuse things, to try and get all the guys to blow off steam, but things escalated.”

 

“That’s purrrty obvious.” Judd stroked his furry chin. “But your parents' idea seems to make sense.” Indeed, that was part of why Turf Wars as a competitive sport were invented. They helped the Inklings release pressure, tension and pent-up aggression in a safe environment. “So what went wrong?”

 

“My ‘friends’ got involved.” She replied sourly. “One of them studies a lot of history and mentioned the ancient tournaments where males competed over healthy females. My other friends spread the word about it and the next thing I know my relatives start getting involved and with barely any consultation from me, they organized this informal tournament.”

 

More pieces to the puzzle. The way things got out of control was almost like the start of a new trend, which was partly what Judd was worried about. Still, ultimately it was this girl’s decision who she would marry, tournament or not. Unfortunately, social pressure would likely force her to make a decision and since this whole event would probably make for good press, the whole world was going to know about it. She was trapped in a net that technically didn’t exist but was ultimately real.

 

“What’s your name?” The cat asked. The sudden off-topic question caught the young Inkling off guard. She stared blankly at him for several heartbeats before she managed a reply.

 

“Cresta, Cresta Humboldt. I’m nineteen.”

 

“Young” He purred. “How did someone your age get mixed up in such a mess? I’m no authority, but you are quite purrrty as far as Inklings go, but even purrrty girls don’t get mixed up in things like this. There must be something that makes you quite special for you to spurrr this kind of reaction.”

 

Cresta fidgeted in her seat, twiddling her thumbs, probably determining how to answer. “I guess you’ve seen things like this before.”

 

Was she dodging the question? Well, he didn’t want to seem like he was prying too much so he decided to play along for now. “I have; a long time ago. Back then, the female in question was put in a place of honour, a special box to watch the event. She would be dressed finely and surrounded by gifts from her suitors. Back then the females enjoyed the idea of having tournaments and delighted in seeing the males fight over them, because that would be a day all about them, when they felt like royalty, like a heroine in a fairy tale.”

 

“Some girls still love to see boys fighting over them,” Cresta said bitterly. “Or over another girl even.”

 

“And that happened to you?”

 

“It helped add fuel to the fire.” She let out a long sigh. “It’s not just my looks; although, I’m sure that’s part of it. I have… a very high egg count. Seven.”

 

Judd let out a long meow, much more polite than a whistle, he thought. An egg count was the average number of eggs a female inkling carried at any time. It varied but most of the time an Inkling female wouldn’t have more than one egg ready to be fertilized at any time, or expelled if it expired and a new one took its place. Having an average of seven at a time was quite impressive as far as he knew.

 

Suddenly the warning whistle interrupted his thoughts and the first teams appeared on the respawn pads: Green, Pink, Orange, and Blue. In the past, it had often been a battle royale but perhaps that didn’t sit well enough with the current culture, and Judd preferred it as well. Four teams, each out for itself, four colours of ink to track and judge. No easy challenge for the judges observing the carnage.

 

_ ‘No wait, this is a Splat Match, not a turf war.’ _ He reminded himself. There would be no judging of the area of ink covered; although, it would probably have some relation to a team’s victory. Ultimately, however, the strategies would have to be different.

 

A loud whistle from all judges at once and the match began. Right away, all but one of the teams began laying ink as they made their way to the middle. Whether it was done out of habit or part of an actual strategy was difficult to tell. The Green team, who was not laying ink, was actually able to advance more quickly and began seizing advantageous positions in the field.

 

Judd wondered if the teammates were also competing for Cresta or were friends of the competitors, trying to help them achieve victory? That would probably make a big difference in how good their teamwork was.

 

First splat went to the Green team, a perfect shot with a charger, catching the Pink team off guard who hadn’t expected anyone to advance to quickly. A bit amateurish in Judd’s opinion. Rushing forward to ink some of the turf further from the spawn point was a common strategy employed in turf wars.

 

Blue and Orange almost ran into each other, but Blue’s roller reacted quickly and got the match’s second splat before Green’s charger splatted his blue teammate carrying an Aerospray. The Blue roller continued moving to try and mow down the remaining Orange members, but one carrying a Splatter Shot leapt over his ink roller and clubbed him in the face with his weapon, causing the roller to stagger abruptly and almost fall into the Orange ink.

 

One of the remaining Blue members took aim at the violent offender but before he could fire, he was suddenly splatted by a long range shot from a charger, not from the Green team, but from one of the judges.

 

Judd breathed a small sigh of relief, glad that the judges were keeping a tight rein on things despite the circumstances. The offender respawned moments later, a little stunned and frustrated but a stern reminder from the judge guarding the Orange spawn point seemed to help drive the point home that there were still rules. With emotions running this high, they couldn’t afford to let things spiral out of control.

 

In a normal match like a Turf War, the punishment would have been much more severe. Accidents happened but deliberate attacks were another matter. Ordinarily, he would have been banned from matches for a whole day, at least for a first offence. Here it seemed like the only punishment was a forced respawn courtesy of the judges carrying their chargers, a detail Judd had missed at first.

 

The match had by now descended into Chaos as Green team fought hard to keep their positions on the map while their respawned teammates took longer to return to the fight without an already existing ink trail and were having to make one as their team respawned.

 

Judd looked over at Cresta, wondering what her reactions were, but the girl was not eyeing the match, at least not entirely. Instead, when Judd followed her contemptuous gaze, it fell on a tight group of other female Inklings chatting excitedly to each other as they watched the fierce chaos unfold.

 

“Look at them” She growled. “Giggling and laughing as boys fight beak and hook, like it’s all for their amusement.” He blue eyes were filled with disgust. “The Precursors wouldn’t have done something like this. We’re acting like our pre-land dwelling ancestors, just animals fighting to last another generation instead of applying the gifts the Precursors left us! If they’re watching us now they’re probably disgusted that we seem to be devolving back into animals, squandering what they tried to teach us!” She glared fiercely at the cackling females in the benches below and then onto the battlefield. “All of us.”

 

Judd could only sigh inwardly. The Inklings and other sapient species that existed today had no idea. After many thousands of years, there wasn’t much left of humanity, or the ‘Precursors’ as they were known by them. What artefacts had remained helped to advance the civilization of the new Mollusk Age races and inspire many of the fashions and entertainment they enjoyed. Because of this they revered the Precursors as a great race and considered their loss a tragedy for which they were worse off to be without.

 

Judd had little trouble with how they viewed the Precursors. Their own optimistic view built off of the meagre remains of the civilizations that had come before them was not an issue because they were probably better off not knowing about Humanity.

 

Humanity had destroyed many of its weapons prior to its destruction. Even the cryonic stasis pod he had been placed in had been made of raw materials from melted down weapons. Because of that, the new denizens of the Earth had never been influenced by the truly destructive and deadly weapons humanity had built or by the more corrupt aspects of their old societies. By the time Humans had advanced to a stage where they could truly put aside such petty differences as colour or religion, it had been too late.

 

Judd looked out over the battle as the Pink team finally managed to dislodge the Green team from its advantageous position and began firing down upon their opponents from the heights. Two more had been penalized for striking their opponents as the male’s blood boiled and emotions skyrocketed to new heights.

 

For a brief moment, as he compared their actions, their combat to that of humans, the four different colours of ink all changed to a shade of glistening red, spreading out in all directions. Shattered and dismembered bodies scattered across the ground. He could almost hear the distant crying wails of children and loved ones.

 

He shook his head to banish the visions from his mind as the match came to a close with a shrill whistle and the fighting mercifully stopped. Every participant was still alive; the only injuries a few scrapes and bruises. No real casualties besides egos. How much worse would it have been had they taken more inspiration from how the ‘Precursors’ settled their disputes? If they knew how much the land they stood on had once been drenched in blood and scorched by fire?

 

His mind settled, Judd placed a paw on Cresta’s arm. “Purrrhaps the best gift the Precursors gave you, was what they didn’t leave behind.”

 

Cresta looked at him puzzled. “What? You mean the Precursors? How could we benefit from not knowing something they did?”

 

Judd looked out onto the battlefield as the four teams marched off and the next group prepared to spawn in.  _ ‘Knowledge can be a dangerous thing’  _ He wanted to tell her, but that would reveal too much.

 

“The fact that you don’t know why might be a gift in itself.” It wasn’t any less cryptic but he could never reveal too much of what he knew; for their sake. And so he left that statement without any further explanation, leaving Cresta to ponder while the next round of teams spawned onto the field and Judd continued to watch, as he had for the past two-thousand years, praying silently that it would all work out for Cresta.

 


End file.
